


Oops, Wrong House

by DaniJayNel



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Hangover, Modern AU, might be a oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniJayNel/pseuds/DaniJayNel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa wakes up to find a drunk woman fast asleep on her couch. Clarke is mortified that for the first time in her life, she has broken and entered. At least Lexa is nice about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oops, Wrong House

**Author's Note:**

> also wrote this a while back. Clexa fever is back. Hope you enjoy.

Lexa was making for the kitchen as she usually did, to consume a large mug of strong, sweet coffee—these days it was all that kept her alive through the days—when along the way she heard a soft mutter and paused just in the entryway, ears straining. The noise sounded again, a little louder. Lexa’s heart leaped into her throat—she lived alone.

Abandoning thoughts of coffee, Lexa went for the passageway, where she grabbed a cricket bat she usually kept there just in case, and then inched closer to the lounge. Her ears were sensitive and often precise, so without needing to make sure she already knew that the intruder was somewhere in the lounge. Creeping into the room wasn’t the brightest idea, Lexa had to admit. The smart thing would have been to leave quietly and call the police. But her blood pumped excitedly, and before she knew it the weak morning light from outside brightened her vision and she lowered the bat, confused.

There, on her couch, was a blonde woman currently in the deep throes of sleep. The woman had a dark leather jacket draped over her torso and a makeshift pillow—that was apparently her pants—rolled and tucked underneath her head. Her shoes were nowhere to be seen.

Lexa remembered hearing a party in the building the previous night. Perhaps this woman had wondered in somehow, in her drunken stupor, assuming it was a good idea to fall asleep on a stranger’s couch. With a sigh Lexa placed the bat in its previous nest, returned to her kitchen and started the kettle. Perhaps her day would be more interesting than she thought.

XxX

Clarke would never party again. Ever. Just remembering the occasion from last night had her head pounding, and she groaned in deep pain when she woke and attempted to sit up. The jacket around her fell to her waist and she felt the material scrape against her bare skin. Apparently she’d taken her pants off at some point, but then she saw that it had been used as a pillow, and felt a wash of relief. At least she knew that she hadn’t gone home with some stranger for a night of drunken desire that she would not remember.

Somewhere nearby a throat cleared and Clarke’s head shot up. She immediately regretted the action and pressed her face into her hands, groaning.

“Good morning,” a firm voice told her. “I assume that you enjoyed your sleep on my expensive couch. Now, before I ask who you are, I made breakfast. I suggest that you drink this, first, to get rid of that hangover, and then perhaps take a shower. I will wash your clothes while you do, and then you may leave.”

Clarke looked up again and fought the pounding in her eyes to look about the room. To the right was an open kitchen, where a brunette woman sat, newspaper in hand, watching. Her eyes were pale and fierce, and Clarke felt a strange tingle in the core of her stomach. She swallowed, scrunching her eyes up, and then realized that she was essentially pants-less.

“I didn’t look,” the woman quickly added. There was clear amusement in her tone, in the way her lips twitched ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke finally croaked out. She cringed at how awful she sounded and at how dry her mouth was.

“Come on, drink this and eat,” the woman pointed to the chair in front of her, where a waiting plate of pancakes sat, topped with butter and syrup, and beside that a large glass of… _something._

“What is this?” Clarke questioned, pants and jacket back on, and took a seat at the table. She felt too sick to even wonder upon her situation. This woman was offering a cure for her pounding headache and she was desperate enough to try anything.

“Just drink it,” the woman ordered. “You’ll thank me after.”

Clarke obeyed and chugged the glass down quickly. The initial taste wasn’t bad, but then the after taste hit and Clarke’s face contorted in disgust. “That was really gross.”

The brunette grinned in amusement. “Yes, well, it beats having a bad hangover.”

“What’s your name? Why are you helping me? I’m pretty sure I broke into your house last night.”

“I’m Lexa,” she answered. For a moment Lexa’s brows connected, and then she sighed and lowered the newspaper onto the table. “You must have climbed in through the bathroom window. The hinge is broken and it opens easily.”

Clarke felt mortified. “Please tell me you don’t want to call the police or anything.”

“You were drunk, were you not?”

Clarke nodded and Lexa rewarded her with a lifted brow and another amused smirk.

“Eat, Clarke,” Lexa said.

“How do you know my name?”

Lexa pulled something out of her pocket—Clarke’s driver’s license—and then pressed it down on the table. “I found that in the fridge,” she said.

Clarke looked down at the pancakes, remembered only slightly what had transpired after leaving the party, and wished that the ground would swallow her whole. “Oh god,” she muttered, mortified all over again.

Lexa returned to her newspaper and coffee. “Eat before I decide to kick you out while you look like that.”

Clarke obeyed, lifting her eyes every so often to send a glance over to the kind stranger. While her words were controlled and somewhat condescending, it was clear that Clarke had lucked out. Lexa was nice. Maybe not _nice_ nice, but enough to feed a stranger and offer her solace until she pulled her act together. Clarke still couldn’t let go of her mortification. How in the hell had she broken into a stranger’s house, put her license in their fridge and then passed out on their couch? Octavia and Raven were going to have a blast when she told them.

XxX

Now that her face wasn’t squashed to the leather surface of the couch, Lexa could easily see how exceptionally beautiful this woman was. She was hungover, in pain, mortified and clearly needed to shower, but she was beautiful. While Clarke ate, Lexa watched her, eyes tracing the curves of her jaw and lips, the dip at her nose, the neat lines of her eyebrows and eventually the bright blues of her eyes. Lexa knew she was in trouble the moment those eyes looked up and caught her staring. She swallowed, tried to look away, but couldn’t. A strange tightness gripped her heart, and finally she tore her gaze away to stare at the surface of the table.

“I’m sorry again, Lexa.” And oh, was her voice attractive—firm, clear with a hint of huskiness. It made Lexa wonder what Clarke sounded when her voice was dipped in something primal, like desire or anger.

“As long as this doesn’t happen again, you may leave with a clear conscience.”

Clarke nodded weakly and glanced down at her now empty plate. Lexa would wonder what she was thinking, but it was clearly written across her face. Sighing, Lexa stood and motioned for Clarke to follow her. “Shower,” she instructed. “I have extra towels and toothbrushes inside. You may use them. While you shower I’ll clean your clothes.” Lexa watched a small furrow form at Clarke’s brow, but didn’t comment on it. Instead she pushed the bathroom door open and then inclined her head.

“Thanks,” Clarke murmured softly. She went inside, unsure, and lingered by the door. “Lexa?”

Lexa had just been about to leave, but she paused and turned to look over her shoulder. “What is the matter, Clarke?”

“As weird as this sounds, I’m glad it was your couch I passed out on.” A light tint of red hit her cheeks, but Clarke’s shoulders squared and Lexa could see it in her eyes—the determination not to show nervousness, weakness. She grinned.

“I’m sure you are,” she said before finally leaving Clarke to her shower.

XxX

After Lexa left, Clarke carefully removed her dirty clothing and folded them neatly, setting them beside the sink before she padded over to the luxurious shower and somehow figured out how to switch it on. The thing was huge, with one large handle that twisted to the left for cold water, to the right for hot, and then outward for stronger jets. The shower head wasn’t simply fixed to the corner of the shower, like most were, but instead was built into it, and was accompanied by three others in all directions. When the first spill of hot water burst out and slid down her skin, Clarke groaned in appreciation. Now she was definitely glad that she had broken into Lexa’s house. This shower was exquisite.

After what must have been an hour later of simply standing there under the hot water and steam, and less time actually lathering soap into her skin, Clarke climbed out and found a large, fluffy towel. She wrapped it around herself and slowly, lazily dried the droplets of still warm water from her skin. To her mortification—again—her clothes were gone, replaced by a modest white robe. There was no way she was going to leave the room in a towel, and with her clothes gone, she slipped the robe on. It felt softer than it looked, and Clarke’s skin warmed up against the fabric almost immediately. After marvelling at the sensation, she hurried to brush her teeth with a new toothbrush she found in one of the drawers—why were there so many anyway? Clarke decided not to dwell on the fact.

Now clean, she had to find her phone and send Octavia or Raven a message. They probably thought she had dropped off the earth or something, and hearing them panic over the phone was never a pleasant thing. Part of Clarke looked forward to telling them about what had actually happened, but another part of her was afraid—that her friends would make it far larger than it was and make her pounding headache return.

Speaking of, the gross drink Lexa had offered had actually worked. Clarke felt somewhat close to normal after eating, drinking that foul stuff and having a nice shower. Why in the hell was Lexa being so nice to her? Suddenly Clarke was suspicious, because surely things like this didn’t happen without there being some kind of fine print tagged at the end.

There was a soft whir coming from a room down the hallway, but Clarke ignored it and headed for the kitchen. It was empty, as was the lounge, save for Clarke’s boots on the floor and her personal items placed neatly on the coffee table. Beside them a small piece of paper caught Clarke’s attention.

_“Clarke,_

_I had to leave for work. I don’t trust you in the least to actually leave you unsupervised. Please note that my apartment does have security cameras and I informed the security guards to keep a close eye on you. Your clothes are in the dryer, and once they are done you may let yourself out. I’m sure you enjoyed my food and my shower, but let’s not make a habit of this. Good luck with the rest of your reckless self-abandon. Be cautious of houses you might find tantalizing to break into. Just a thought._

_Regards,  
Lexa”_

Clarke let out an undignified snort and crunched the paper in her fist. She tossed it away and found her clothes in a room down the hall, where the noises had been emanating from. They were warm and clean, fresh from the dryer, and Clarke sighed as she slipped the soft fabric over her skin. Even though she had been out cold on the couch, she couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours’ sleep. Having warm and clean clothes on now reminded Clarke of her pounding exhaustion, so she pulled her boots on in the lounge, grabbed her stuff and then made for the door while her phone buzzed to life. And then buzzed again, and again, insistently until Clarke shut the door behind her and pulled the gate closed. Before she could release an offended whine at the sheer amount of messages she had, a rough throat cleared to her right and she jumped, head snapping up. She almost gave herself whiplash.

“Jesus!” Clarke exclaimed, a hand pressed to her chest.

A large, burly man stood stiffly beside Lexa’s door. He nodded once it greeting—at least Clarke thought so—and then shifted his eyes to the apartment she had just left.

“I didn’t take anything,” Clarke told him harshly. “You can tell your pretty little boss that.” She rolled her eyes—now clearly offended, not just by how overbearing her friends could be, but by how a complete stranger had insinuated, right to her face, that she was a thief. Clarke completely missed the fact that she was in fact a stranger that _had_ broken and entered.

The security guard lifted a brow and flicked his eyes down to the phone in Clarke’s hand, which had started another round of buzzing. He seemed like he was about to smile, but then he dipped his head once in dismissal and reached over to lock the apartment up. Clarke didn’t stay to watch him, but the sound of jiggling keys followed her until she found an elevator and stabbed at the button. Her foot tapped impatiently, and then her phone rang yet again, but with a call. Clarke stepped into the now open elevator and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Clarke where in the hell are you?” Raven yelled frantically.

Clarke winced, pulled the phone away from her ear, and then sighed as she returned it. “Is O with you?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Where are you Clarke? We thought Finn kidnapped you or something!”

Clarke rolled her eyes, then her squared shoulders and took a breath. “Look, I’m coming over. I’ll explain there.”

There was a pause over the line, then Clarke could make out heavy breathing. “Did you bang someone?” Raven asked, hushed. Clarke could hear Octavia stifling her laughter in the background.

The question was not dignified enough to call for an answer, so Clarke merely hung up. She shoved the annoying device back into her pocket, left the elevator when it opened and then trudged through the morning fog to her car. Lexa invaded her thoughts on the way, and Clarke couldn’t stop a strange flutter in her stomach.


End file.
